He holds the gla.s.s out to me. "Drink this. Booze always helps."

I take the whiskey and gulp it down. His eyes don't leave mine. "s.e.x helps, too."

"f.u.c.k you, Sten."

"Anytime." He seizes my lips with his, and I wonder if we'll get noise complaints again. The gla.s.s drops from my hand and onto the carpet with a dull clink.

Like smoke the vision evaporated, leaving Val's ceiling in its wake. She remembered why she usually tried to concentrate on something specific right before climax; if she didn't, a random jumble of death and mayhem filled the void. A collection of things she didn't want to see-like Max's death, Delilah destroying the world, and a potential future with Sten.

Beside her, Max breathed like he'd just finished a sprint. Sweat and shower water dibbled down his skin, his still-erect p.e.n.i.s glistening in the sun's waning light.

"I win," he said.

Chapter Twenty-five.

Max always won. They played the game for nearly three days straight, stopping only when they were too exhausted or hungry to continue, or when Toby howled for want of something. Val usually didn't like playing games she couldn't win, but this one was an exception. The control Max wielded over his body was incredible, wrought from decades of managing his ability in a way Val had never needed to. She tried a wide variety of positions to coax him into coming first, but a flick of his wrist, a slide down his shaft, or a touch of his tongue was all it took for her to explode in his arms. It wasn't fair.

She didn't talk about her visions, and he didn't ask. He knew they were generally awful, and instead of inquiring about what she'd seen, he would hold her and stroke her hair if she looked upset, and she loved him more for it. She tried focusing as she'd done with Sten, but she couldn't concentrate on anything but Max and what she felt for him. Their emotional connection was too strong. Could be that was how Sten could work his magic-maybe the disconnection was key. Unfortunately, her intimate time with him had knocked loose a slew of possible futures with the dirty cop, none of which she would accept. Not to mention Max's death, or her death, or their stolen child...

I can change the things I see, she had to remind herself.

Val tried to call Stacey half a dozen times during short breaks in their game, but could only get her friend's voice mail. She understood Stacey's annoyance at bringing a third person into the house, but it was Val's house. And it was only temporary. Soon Max would move back into his own condo, she'd move in with him, and Stacey would have the whole house to herself. It didn't mean they weren't friends anymore or that Max had somehow replaced her. She had to know that. They could talk it out if Stacey would just return her d.a.m.n phone calls.

Even if Stacey didn't want to talk about their living arrangement, they needed to talk about what they'd do with the business while Val was in Fiji with Max. If she wanted, Stacey could work cases and keep the full fee while Val was gone. She could even take over the business indefinitely. Frankly, Val's epic fail with the Margaret Monroe case had burned her out. She needed a break from dealing with other people's problems so she could get her own f.u.c.ked-up life in order. As Max's wife, Val didn't need the money anyway...wouldn't need the money. They weren't quite married yet.

As Max's wife. Even when she'd been Robby's fiancee, marriage had always been an idea to her, something other people did for tax reasons or to fulfill obligations. She could never fully picture herself as someone else's wife. Val hadn't thought she was capable of completely giving herself to someone else, to be legally and spiritually bound to another person for life, until she met Max and experienced firsthand the devastation of trying to live without the person she loved most in the world.

After three days of frantic lovemaking, they took an extended break for Max to call Michael and set up a time to retrieve his pa.s.sport from his condo.

"Abby agreed to this evening," Max said when he got off his cell phone. Clad only in his boxers, he lounged on the couch and tossed his phone on the coffee table. He picked at a pint of ice cream while Toby lay at his feet, then frowned and stared into s.p.a.ce for a moment. Val recognized the look-guilt. He made it a lot.

Val plopped down next to him, took the spoon from his hand, and ate a mouthful of fudge ripple. "She could be sleeping with her brother."

He shook his head and paired it with a slight roll of his eyes. "The whole world isn't all incest, rape, and murder, though it seems that way sometimes." He sighed. "I should give her the condo."

"People break up all the time, Max. It's never easy. Sometimes it's straight-up ugly. At least she wasn't hit by a car and left for dead."

By the way he flinched, Val could tell he hadn't considered the possibility that being with him had put Abby in danger. If the people who wanted Max and Val to have a child were willing to kill Val's fiance to further that goal, there was no reason they wouldn't do the same to Abby. In fact, now that Val thought about it, she was surprised they hadn't killed Max's ex-fiancee already. Maybe they'd decided to play the waiting game instead, betting the bond between Max and Val would eventually pull them back together. If so, they'd bet right.

"And don't just give her your condo," Val said. "That's weird."

"I can always buy another one."

"That's not the point. Money isn't the only way to make people happy. It's not all you have to give."

His eyes softened as he considered her words. The green in them seemed to sparkle, and he smiled. "Did you get psychiatric training just for me?" He kissed her. "How much do you charge by the hour?"

"You can't afford it."

Max pulled her into his lap, dislodging the carton of ice cream onto the ground; a sinful treat for Toby now. She laughed as he leaned down and kissed her, her torso cradled in his arms while her legs kicked the air, and tried not to think of the last time she'd had s.e.x in the living room-with Sten.

Before they could begin another round of their favorite game, someone knocked at the door. They weren't expecting anyone, though reporters still lurked in the area.

Val sighed. "I'd better see who it is." She pushed herself off his lap and walked to the door. When she looked through the peephole, she gasped. It was Jo. s.h.i.t. She hadn't told Max yet about her last conversation with his half sister. Val glanced at Max; he was shooing Toby away from the ice cream carton, oblivious to the bomb about to be dropped on him. She bit her lip and poked her head out, staying behind the door to hide her flimsy T-shirt and underwear, the only things she wore.

"h.e.l.lo, Val." Jo spoke with a cordialness missing from their last meeting. Her eyes were wide yet tight at the corners, as if her lids struggled to keep her nervousness from seeping out the sides.

"Hi, Jo."

After a moment where they stared at each other, she said, "So I heard...um, I heard Max was here."

Heard it from the news, no doubt. d.a.m.n reporters. "Yeah, he's here."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Uh..." Val looked behind her at Max. He c.o.c.ked his head trying to see around her, mildly interested in their mystery visitor, likely wondering why Val hadn't sent the person away yet. "Can you wait here for a minute?"

Jo nodded.

Val shut the door and turned to Max. She took a deep breath. "Josephine is here."

He shot up from the couch. "Why?"

"She wants to talk to you."

His eyes narrowed at Val. "Why?"

"I sort of told her you were her brother."

"Val!"

"She came to me and demanded to know why you kept trying to give her money. She thought you were paying her off for killing Dean! What was I supposed to do, let her believe that?"

"It wasn't your choice to make."

"I know, okay? I know. I'm sorry."

He seethed at her for a couple of seconds-though nothing near his anger at the Mountain Lodge, thank G.o.d-before his gaze cut to the door and softened. "She wants to talk?"

Val nodded. "If that's what you want, now's your chance."

Max opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, then did it again, then folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his biceps. He looked down at his boxers as if noticing them for the first time. "I have to get dressed." He turned and jogged up the stairs. Val a.s.sumed that meant "yes."

She called from the first floor, "Can you throw me down some pants?"

A pair of jeans soared through the air and landed at her feet. She slipped them on and realized they were his-too long and too loose-but they'd do for the short term. She pulled on her sneakers and a light coat, then opened the door again.

"You can come in," she told Jo. "He's getting dressed."

Jo walked into the living room and stood there awkwardly. She scanned the area around her, maybe looking for signs of Robby. Val hadn't changed much since his death. She'd given some of his things away as personal mementos to close friends and family, and Stacey had moved her few belongings in-mostly tie-dyed flair-but the house was by and large the same. Toby trotted over and barked at Jo, his hair raised and bobbed tail stiff in the air.

"Toby, stop it," Max said from the stair's landing. He'd thrown on a clean dress shirt and khaki pants, brushed his hair and probably his teeth, too, Val guessed. Trying to look respectable. Toby met Max at the base of the stairs. Max knelt and scratched the dog's forehead. Neither Max nor Jo said anything, and Val realized neither knew where to begin.

Jo cleared her throat. With shaking hands, she reached into her purse and pulled out a clutch of old papers. "I found these in my father's things last year. Stuff he kept in the back of his closet. They're love letters from someone. I knew it wasn't my mom because it wasn't her handwriting, so I guess"-she swallowed hard-"they must be from your mom."

Max took the letters, his own hands trembling slightly, and flipped through them. "It's my mother's handwriting. She liked to write letters." He looked at Jo. "Do you want coffee or something?"

Jo nodded and sat at the dining room table. Max walked into the kitchen, turned on the coffeemaker, and pulled three mugs from the cabinet.

"You know what, I think I'll pa.s.s," Val said. "I need to pick up a few things from the grocery store. I'll be back in a little bit." She walked to Max and whispered in his ear, "Text me if you need me to come back, or stay gone." Despite the audience, Val kissed him. She couldn't help herself. He smelled good. She loved his dirty, marinated-in-s.e.x smell, but his freshened-up scent wasn't too shabby, either.

Val left them alone to have what she guessed would be one of the most awkward conversations of their lives. They were the closest either of them had for family-pretty powerful motivation for learning to get along. She wanted to be there for Max, but connecting with his sister was something he could only do on his own.

It'd been a while since Val made a trip to the grocery store. Stacey did most of the food shopping, while Val kept their alcohol supply stocked. She poked through the aisles, loading up on junk food Stacey wouldn't approve of, and avoiding the beer. She hadn't had a drink since she and Max reunited, and she wanted to keep it that way until she knew she could control herself again.

As she was weighing which flavor of Hot Pocket that Max might prefer, her cell phone rang-Zach.

"What do you got for me?" she asked. Too late to save Margaret, but maybe he'd recovered a clue to Lucien's whereabouts off the hard drive she'd swiped from the Mountain Lodge.

"How come you never make polite small talk?"

"I'm busy, Zach, and naturally rude. You'd better not be calling just to say h.e.l.lo."

"Well, no, you're weird, that's all. Anyway, I called because I found something off those chunks of hard drive you gave me, but I don't know if it's what you're looking for, and I don't want to waste my time trying to put the thing back together if it's not. Where did you get the hard drive from?"

"A party. Why?"

"Uh, thing is, there's a list of files organized by people's names and, well, one of the names is yours, and another is Maxwell Carressa's, and you two are, like, together now, right? Is this a coincidence, or..."

s.h.i.t, Lucien had been tracking them like test subjects. What had he done to her? And what was he going to do?

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What's in the files?" she asked, not really wanting to know.

"I haven't cracked 'em yet. I'm not sure if it's even possible, actually, since the hard drive is in such bad shape. I can try, though, if you want me to."

Val sighed. "Yeah, I do."

"Okay. One other thing-and this is kinda weird, too-the only other name I recognized is the mayor's, Delilah Barrister. Any idea why her name would be on here?"

Her breath caught. Lucien had a file on Delilah? No f.u.c.king way. He was connected to Northwalk-and he might have proof the mayor was, too.

"Crack that file first," Val practically yelled into the phone.

"Sure-if it's possible. The data's all clobbered, though. I'll have to ask a friend of mine who kills it with hardware to try to kludge it back together for me-"

"Whatever it takes. But Zach, don't tell other people about this if at all possible. If you need someone else's help, don't say anything about Mayor Barrister. I mean it. She can't find out. She's dangerous."

"Really? She seemed like a nice lady in her political ads last year-"

"Just promise me, Zach."

"Sure, whatever. I'll be in touch. I've been meaning to beef up my hardware skills, but my mom keeps insisting I go outside and-"

She hung up, trying not to literally squeal with excitement. Could this be the break she needed to finally nail Delilah? If there was any justice in the world, it would be.

With an extra spring in her step, Val paid for the food and stopped at the in-store coffee shop to kill a little more time.

She ordered from the barista, "Grande caramel macchiato, hot, triple-shot, double-caramel, no whip."

The woman smiled. "You got it. That'll be four ninety-five."

The barista eyed her while she dug through her tote for cash.

"You're that chick from the news, aren't you?"

Val looked up. "It depends what news you're talking about."

"The woman who helped Maxwell Carressa prove he was innocent of murder, and then he dumped his fiancee for her."

"That's not exactly how it went down-"

"I knew it! Oh my G.o.d, you are so lucky! He is so hot. And so rich. Are those his pants?"

Val glanced down at her obvious boyfriend jeans. "Um...can I get a blueberry scone?"

"Sure. Three fifty. I heard his new girlfriend lived around here, and he was staying with her, but I didn't realize you were so close. I'm glad he didn't get in too much trouble for beating up that guy in the museum. Whoever it was probably deserved it." The barista held out Val's change.

"Keep it," Val said. She took a seat at a cafe table and waited for her drink. In her tote, her cell phone chimed. She pulled it out and read a new text message, from "a.s.shole." Turn on the news.

Val cringed. She hadn't heard from Sten since the night he'd tricked her into killing a man. In a drunken haze she'd texted him her plan to deal with Eliot Salier, the last man who'd raped her. After what Sten had made her do, he still owed her. Then they'd be even...if she still cared about getting even. She'd told Max to move on with his life. She should take her own advice. A wiser, less vengeful person would.

Val walked back to the barista. "Can I turn on your TV?"

"Sure!" The barista handed Val the remote. "Just no Fox News, please."

Val clicked on the flat-screen TV suspended in the corner and flipped to the local news. "Holy s.h.i.t," she muttered when Lucien's face popped into the center.

"-is wanted for questioning in the death of Tacoma resident Margaret Monroe," an anchor's voice narrated. "The police have declined to say if Lucien Christophe is a suspect in Margaret Monroe's murder, but they're asking the local community for any information on Christophe's whereabouts."

Hot d.a.m.n, the police really were looking for Lucien. She didn't know if it was Sten or police competence she had to thank. Maybe justice would be served after all. Today was turning into a pretty good day all around.

Her cell phone chimed again with another text: But wait, there's more! She rolled her eyes. Then: 9040 NE 41st Street, Yarrow Point. 1 hour.